


Finding Family

by GayNidoKing



Series: ZevWarden Week 2020 [1]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Blind Character, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-02
Updated: 2020-07-02
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:54:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25038085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GayNidoKing/pseuds/GayNidoKing
Summary: During a detour into the Brecilian forest, Laz and Zevran talk about belonging.
Relationships: Zevran Arainai/Surana, Zevran Arainai/Warden
Series: ZevWarden Week 2020 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1813810
Comments: 2
Kudos: 3
Collections: ZevWarden Week 2020





	Finding Family

**Author's Note:**

> Written for ZevWarden Week, Day 1: Eye of the Beholder, Identity. 
> 
> I forgot it started this week, so hopefully I have enough creative juice left over to do today's prompt too!

They were in a Dalish camp, welcomed as allies.

All things considered, Zevran supposed he shouldn’t have been surprised. Laz had already dragged--kicking and screaming--mages, Templars, and self-absorbed nobles to their cause. It only made sense that she would have recruited a clan of Dalish elves as well. No one, it seemed, was immune to her “charms.” She had something about her that was inspiring. More than once he’d heard it called “arrogance,” but it was more than that. Something about her was... _ inevitable _ . Like watching a storm on the horizon and feeling the wet wind on your face and knowing there was no escape.

They were looking for something in this forest, a person or an artifact or something. This was not the first errand like this she’d gone on, and if he’d counted their companions correctly, it wouldn’t be the last. She hadn’t revealed the details, only that it was a favor for Wynne. That had surprised everyone, given the bad blood between the two of them.

Zevran had been a bit uncertain about leaving most of their companions behind after hearing the tales about this forest. He’d stated as much, knowing that even with two mages, they may not be safe from whatever lurked in the depths here. But Laz had merely waved her hand and assured him they had allies.

And those allies were, evidently, Dalish. They had come into the camp, he and Laz and Wynne, with two carts piled with crates of herbs. As they’d approached, she’d explained: that was part of the deal. This clan had been crippled by a disaster (of course they had), and the price for their aid against the Blight was that Laz provided materials and supplies to help them strengthen and rebuild. That explained the late night elven visitors they’d had, who spoke not a word to anyone but Laz, and left as quickly as they came.

After introductions were made, the Keeper had agreed to aid them. It had already been a long journey to make it this far, so they were offered a safe, warm place to sleep, as well as food and song and rest before setting out in the morning. A guide would be provided for them to delve deeper. Once those negotiations were complete, Laz left them alone, which he’d learned was the best thing to do when it came to the Dalish. Some things were universal.

These were not Antivan elves. Their skin was a bit paler, for one, and the lack of accents was a sure giveaway. They also weren’t as...harsh? They were cold, and unfriendly, and even outright hostile to Wynne, but they talked to Laz with no small amount of respect (though he noticed they only used her last name.) Even when he--a stranger--approached to eavesdrop, they didn’t respond with drawn weapons or even sharp gazes.

It was certainly more comfortable than he expected, but it still wasn’t...right.

He sat and watched as Laz moved about the camp, reaching out to acquaintances she’d made while she was here. As cold as she could be, she still managed to make friends here.

He was somewhat surprised that she came to sit by him. For one thing, he hadn’t even known she’d known he was here. She hadn’t acknowledged him once while she played ambassador.

But she must have known he was there because when she sat down, it was practically in his lap, and she made absolutely no effort to move away. She turned her face to him. She had that look on her face, and he knew whatever she was about to say was going to be blunt, potentially hurtful. She never intended it, but she had the same method in her speech as she did in everything else. Direct and efficient, like a well-aimed arrow.

“Do you feel as out of place as I do?” That hadn’t been what he was expecting. Rarely did she open these kinds of conversations by admitting anything about herself, let alone any feelings of doubt or alienation.

He considered saying something witty, but decided to respond to her candor in kind. “I do.” He stretched his legs out in front of him and shifted his arm, inviting her to move closer to him if she wished. She did not. “That is to be expected. We are not Dalish.”

“Is this how it felt when you found that Dalish clan, back in Antiva?” She couldn’t see him, but he still felt like her gaze was piercing through him. “Like you’re looking in, held at arms’ length?”

“Is that how you feel in alienages?” he retorted, part curiosity and part defensiveness. They hadn’t really talked about this except a handful of times, and she’d never been  _ this _ direct.

“Yes.”

Well, damn. Hadn’t he just decided to respond with honesty with honesty?

He sighed. “Yes. It is not exactly the same, because I am not seeking entry to the clan, but yes. A bit,” he admitted.

She gave her next sentence some thought. “Do you resent them at all? For keeping you away?”

That was easy to answer. “Not at all. They are under no obligation to take me in, no matter how I feel about it.” He rolled his shoulders, brushing against her. “Though that was not my mother’s clan. Perhaps that makes the difference.”

She tilted her head to the side. “Perhaps.” She sighed and turned her head back towards the clan. Her eyes moved restlessly around, and she gripped her cane tightly. “If you like, we can ask this clan to look for them. If you knew your mother’s clan name, they could find them.”

That...wasn’t what he’d been expecting to hear. “Oh, is it my turn to ask a favor?” he teased. She’d spent so much time running errands for their companions, in addition to trying to save the world. He had nothing to ask her for that she hadn’t already given him: a place to sleep, a warm body to hold, someone to talk to.

Her expression was almost offended.. “It’s not a favor,” she corrected him. “I wouldn’t offer if I thought it was an inconvenience.”

He actually thought about it. “I...no, I don’t think so. What would I even do with that information?”

She shrugged the shoulder closest to him, skin brushing against his. It was hot here, and she’d dressed for the occasion. “That’s not the point,” she said. “And I...I don’t know.” Not something he often heard from her. “Every time I come here, I feel out of place. In the Circle, I felt out of place. When we visited the alienage in that Redcliffe, I felt out of place. You do, too. I can tell. But it’s different if it’s family.”

“Is it?” He didn’t mean for his tone to be so bitter. Whether she knew it or not, she had brought up the small, fragile hope he’d held onto for years. He’d put it to rest a long time ago, with all the rest of his naive dreams.

He knew better now than to ask about  _ her _ family, though he’d gleaned enough to know her situation was only passingly familiar to his own. She had family to go back to. Did she think the clan would readily accept him, who was the death of one of their own?

“It could be,” she responded, tone equally hard. “You don’t have to do anything, Zevran. You can just...it’s nice to  _ know _ , isn’t it?”

He turned his attention back to the clan. They all moved like they were of a mind, flowing effortlessly around each other. He could pick out lovers, siblings, best friends, and even some rivals. They were all so comfortable here, in this place they had carved for themselves. Even those rivals, he knew, would defend each other against any threat if it came down to it. It was nothing he had ever known.

Would he find that, if he found his mother’s clan?

He turned to look at Laz.

Would he find that, if he stayed with her?

He didn’t belong here. He hadn’t belonged in the alienage. He had certainly excelled, but perhaps he hadn’t belonged in the Crows either. He got his fair share of odd looks, but there weren’t quite the same as the ones Laz got. Perhaps it was the tattoo.

“Perhaps once the world is saved,” he finally said. “No point trying to seek them out if I’m just going to get skewered by a darkspawn on the trip.”

She nodded curtly, as if they were completing a transaction. “Once the world is saved,” she repeated. Her shoulders relaxed, and she let out a deep breath. As if she had been waiting for his answer with bated breath.

He didn’t expect her hand on his knee. Her face was turned to him, unfocused eyes upturned towards his face. Guessing what her grasping fingers were searching for, he moved his hand to entwine with hers. She squeezed hard, and held on.

“Once this is over,” she said, “We’ll find your family. I don’t want you to just...drift.”

“The Dalish drift, do they not?” She couldn’t see it, but he gestured with his other hand to the camp. “Just as we do.”

“The Dalish  _ wander _ ,” she corrected, with a hint of amusement that suggested this was another one of her inside jokes to herself. “And don’t be dense. You know what I mean.”

He chuckled, lifting their entwined hands to poke at her nose. “I do.”

For all her posturing and facade of an arrogant, heartless force of nature, Laz did have a heart. A rather large one, in fact. He’d seen it, in the way she went out of her way to please their companions and ease their pains, and in the way she touched him in the dark of night, as if he were giving her something precious and irreplaceable. She was working to reunite Alastair with his family, and Sten with what remained of his. Zevran had no doubt that whatever they were doing here had nothing to do with the Blight, and everything to do with the forlorn look on Wynne’s face.

Laz truly intended to help him find his place.

“Thank you for the offer. For better or for worse, I may take you up on it, when this is over.”

They sat in silence for a while. He looked at the Dalish, and she looked at him. Vague thoughts of belonging swirled in his head, never coming to realization as any concrete desire.

“You know,” he said, tone light, “even if we do not find my family, we could always make one.”

It was a joke, but she didn’t laugh. Instead, she smiled and squeezed his hand.

“We could,” she agreed.

She stood and tugged him up as well. Together they went to the fire, and sat among the Dalish. Zevran listened to the stories, and hummed along to the songs. He asked about the tattoos on their face, and told them about his own. The whole night, Laz stayed by his side. He thought about what it would look like, to be among a clan that looked more like him, spoke more like him. It was unrealistic but...nice.

In all his fantasies, she was with him, hand in his.


End file.
